


The Tag Team Mission

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Airachnid has two valves, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Dubious Consent, F/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate and much more satsifying scene for Crossfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tag Team Mission

Only after about five klicks of both being trapped and without the company of his mission partner did Dreadwing allow himself to start worrying. Even as Megatron was giving him the task, he knew it wouldn't end well for at least one of them. Apart from Airachnid's permanently wavering allegiance he had no personal grudge against the femme, and he was almost disappointed in having to terminate her just to quell Megatron's suspicions.

As for having Breakdown tag along to watch her demise... well, Dreadwing couldn't remember a time when their lord didn't have a twisted sense of humour. 

He knew full well how strong Airachnid's webbing was- he once saw firsthand how a single strand of it held back a rampaging Dinobot like a Scraplet on a leash- but that didn't stop him squirming in the glue of its grip. Struggling against it only made the fibres spread out and strengthen even more against snapping, giving the impression of trying to heave a Metrotitan shell off himself.

It took another ten klicks and some very patient, very persistent sawing of his servo armour edges through the thinnest strands he could see before he was unrigged from the tree, gracelessly collapsing in a heap of web clumps and his own humiliation. He clenched his digits, digging deep furrows in the dirt, frantically scanning behind him for any trace of the two rogue Decepticons. He was well used to playing babysitter for sub-ordinates, but literally having to drag them both back was bordering on ridiculous even for him.

He straightened his backstrut firmly, stubburnly snorting out a vent of air. "Breakdown!" he bellowed, unable to track the boom of his call echoing through the empty forest. The trees were still holding his voice hostage.

He at least managed to retrieve his thermal cannon, nestled in the remains of a trampled molehill and with only a few dents on its barrel. He tested his digit on the trigger, allowing it to build up energy just before it deposited its burning bullets into whatever was in range. He only wanted to test that it still worked, not draw the spider right back to him like a homing beacon. 

No, he'd much prefer hunting her down himself. With or without Breakdown, he still had a mission to complete, and Megatron had already forgiven him for letting Optimus Prime escape. Megatron had never known to extend his rare forgiveness twice.

The half of her leg torn off in her fall still lay forlorn in the dirt and branch wreckage, dried energon crusting one end. It was hardly a lethal injury, but it did mean she wouldn't get far, and couldn't go anywhere without leaving a trail.

Dreadwing lowered his cannon cautiously, sweeping the area with a sniper gaze. There, at the foot of a low ridge, he spotted a single speck of energon staining a clump of moss still wet in the humid air trapped by the forest's canopy ceiling. Approaching the hazy crime scene, scanning the new evidence, glancing over the ridge that now barely come up to his shoulders, he saw a whole splattered road of energon ahead, beckoning to him. The undergrowth had already been torn apart by Breakdown barreling through it after her. It was like an old Tyrest tale; the lonely soldier chasing after the lowly scout across a battlefield, only to find her body on the other end torn apart by a razor bomb. Tyrest was well known for its tragedies, manufacturing them like distillery pumps out high-grade, both designed to muffle and erase reality just for a breem or two.

As he followed Breakdown's manic map of progress, Dreadwing was left wondering who would be the scout and who the soldier in this rendition. 

The trampled trail turned left, then right, then opened into a wider corridor of crushed ferns and bushes. The chlorophyll-dappled claustrophobia eased, and Dreadwing hefted his cannon up higher. 

"Breakdown, where in the pit-?" His bark turned to steel and then melted when he stumbled into the very out-of-place clearing that abruptly dawned on him, and saw the blue stains lighting the way turning to a dripping bright pink on the rocks.

In that moment, the Tyrest tragedy very quickly turned into a Praxus porno. 

"Didn't see you there, Dreadwing," Airachnid said over her shoulder, lightly bouncing a few more times on Breakdown's spike. His optic widened at Dreadwing's appearance and his servos pulled vainly against their web trappings, but otherwise he seemed fully absorbed in the spider's ministrations. Dreadwing couldn't blame him for the obliviousness; it was one thing to be cornered by a very dangerous, albeit injured enemy, it was another thing entirely (not even addressed in the scavenged Decepticon battle guides) to be seduced by her. 

All Dreadwing could remember from his training was to never lower his weapon, and even that was becoming a challenge. 

Airachnid was still multi-tasking in the worst way; digging her remaining back legs' talons into Breakdown's armour, keeping rhythm with his hips and optic contact with Dreadwing even as he told himself to look away, run away, haul her off, _stop drooling for Primus sake._  
"You're welcome to join in if you want," she offered, patting her aft and forcing Dreadwing's attention on the second, very unoccupied and very wet valve just above where Breakdown was dipping in and out of her. Techno-organic biology... as if the webs weren't enough to get a mech's attention. "I'm sure Breakdown won't mind sharing..."

There was the bud of a protest from the gestalt that said yes, he certainly would mind, before it was swiftly killed by Airachid's acid mouth closing in on his glossa. Breakdown spent exactly one nanoklick fighting her lips before giving up and drinking her in, sinking further down against the rock at his back, as far as the strings tying his servos above him would allow. He was held captive in a heaven that very few mechs survived. Airachnid's valves started to spasm, gripping both spike and hot air and dribbling thick threads of magenta lube down her thighs. There was already a wide pool of the stuff underneath them as they writhed together.

Dreadwing must have dropped his cannon long ago; he didn't hear it clattering against the ground, rolling out of his reach as he approached the spider and her conquest. He could grab her rotor joint and drag her off Breakdown, dress her up in stasis cuffs before blowing a whole through her spark chamber. It was what was expected of him. 

But of course, he didn't. For the first and last time he'd ever allow, curiosity and a sick, intrusive arousal outweighed all his loyalty. He just had to find out what made her so intoxicating, and he had enough crimes across the galaxies to never forgive himself for. 

Earth would be his rebellious phase. Just this once. 

Airachnid actually seemed surprised that he accepted, pulling away from Breakdown's mouth with strings of saliva and a deep gasp as she felt the bulb of his spike starting to probe her folds. " _Ooh_ , you're a big mech for a Seeker..." She was generous enough to rearrange her legs so they didn't get in the way. 

Dreadwing was already well aware, but hearing it in a moan through chewed lips was an ego boost usually felt only by the likes of Knockout, perpetually bloated on his vanity. He didn't have much time to dwell on it before he hilted, grey thighs already sticky with her leaking arousal. She didn't try hiding how much she adored the attention, optics clamped closed as she whined through the collapse of her control. Breakdown tried to glare at him for intruding so rudely, but it was a hard facade to keep up with his optics glazed and glossa lolling of its own accord, looking like a circuit booster addict. 

Dreadwing wasn't sure if the throbbing was her walls or the outline of Breakdown's spike filling her other chamber. Whatever it was felt... warm, slowly coaxing out pleasure from the core of his shielded spark. Digits firmly holding her hips he pulled out of her inch by inch, leaving room for another flood of lube pushing through her flexing walls, only to shove back in and feel another sweet squeeze around his spike. If only she hadn't tried to be smarter than Megatron, either him or Breakdown could have enjoyed this with her every day. It was a stirring thought that made him all the more regretful about shooting at her.

Maybe this was how he'd make up for it, at the cost of his entire military career and possibly life. 

There was no point trying to keep count of Airachnid's overloads, they came so often in constant waves and sometimes tsunamis breaking through her body. Of her mechs, Breakdown was fated to be the first to overload, groaning loudly against Airachnid's neck cables as the pleasure emptied out. He was more than happy to lie sprawled underneath her, still swarmed by her kisses and chestplates bouncing and valve rippling with loud squelches around him. 

Dreadwing was harder to impress, but the sight of her aft continuously quaking against his hips and herself in general inevitably brought him tumbling over the edge, just as he was pulling out for another hard thrust inside. The climax almost broke him, a sudden onslaught of pleasure that gripped him by the spark and spike; transfluid squirted over her rim, drenching her plating with crimson, blending with the pink of the puddle beneath them. 

Airachnid was looking over her shoulder again, with the pout of a disappointed sparkling. "Am I not good enough for your fluid, Dread?" she asked, looking up at him under fluttering optic lids. She was teasing him just like Breakdown, despite the zoned-out mech's reaction. Either she wanted the same from him, or she was hopeful for something completely different.

A post-overload processor was never in a state for playing mind games. Dreadwing gave himself a window of five nanoklicks to collect himself; pulling out of her, closing his codpiece without bothering to clean up, stumbling in the general direction of his fallen weapon. He still had a mission... not even a galaxy-shattering overload would change that. 

He'd just managed a slick grip on the cannon grip when he heard a departing rustle of trees. He knew he'd regret turning around, either seeing Breakdown gone or decapitated or worse, but invariably with Airachnid's final retreat.

He turned anyway. She'd sliced through Breakdown's web bonds, leaving his servos limp by his side with an equally lopsided grin on his faceplate. He hadn't either the strength or the decency to close his codpiece. To the left was the disturbed tree branches marking the spider's escape route.

Hypocrisy be damned, Dreadwing blamed Breakdown for their failure. "You just released a very lethal traitor into the wild," he informed him, not trusting that the gestalt even knew where he was. 

Breakdown huffed a laugh through a bubble of lingering ectasy. "You just _fragged_ a very lethal traitor. I just didn't complain during it."

Dreadwing didn't bother summoning the energy for a debate. As usual, he was the only one being realistic. He was the only one that knew Megatron was going to have both their spikes on a silver platter to feed to turbofoxes. 

Then again, maybe Breakdown did know it and he really _was_ that loveblind about her. If Megatron didn't kill him first, then the hearts filling his remaining optic would one instead.


End file.
